Ricochet
by whistleonwild
Summary: A gunslinger thrown from Schwaltzvalt to Rune Midgard, industrialization into what he considers sheer insanity, and his mind just can't cope with it all. All he's got are his guns and his music with those alone he's got to find a way through this world.


**001: DON'T BLOW YOUR TOP**

Bang bang, Jay thinks, yeah, an' I'm ready ter--

Except it's never as easy as that, is it? Never as easy as just pulling the trigger and how _odd _that seems, 'cause it's only a twitch of the finger ain't it? Take his finger off the trigger and he can pull the thing, but put cold metal against his finger and--

--Well.

Jay looks down at the thing at his feet.

It ain't as easy as a twitch of the finger but it ain't as hard as killing a man, either.

_Yeaaaaaah--_

_I think I'm 'bout done 'ere. _

He throws his head back and whips his hair out of his sight, sticks the gun back into its holster and pulls his hat a little further over his eyes. Now what? Now what? Dead body here and you can't damn well leave the things lyin' around, always gotta do _something _with them--

Stink up a mess when ya leave 'em. Makes the air all the more suffocating.

Jay snaps his fingers, whistles, taps his feet. A song that's lost to the dead. But the dead listen, even if they do not appreciate, and listening is always the first step to appreciation.

If he goes on long enough maybe somethi

---------------------

Sound looks down at the body, or what remains of it, and glares back up at Jay. Jay flips over a piece of paper, always got somethin' for Sound 'cause Sound usually got somethin' for him.

Sound jerks out a pen to write with and scribbles.

_the hell you want_

"Get rid of it," Jay tells him, and resumes humming along to whatever had been running through his head at the moment.

The start of something cheery. This is no bard's song, nothing he's ever heard sung out here, but something different, something that didn't quite sound Rune-Midgardian in nature. Lights, he thinks, colors. More than this land can ever give him. Sun don't shine as bright here. Rather be blinded by the light than by the lack of it, and his life could only sink into so much silence and so much stillness before something was needed -- something _dazzling --_more than life, more than life can give --

And the only way he can recapture all of that is through--

No. The humming fades off his lips. It was sweet at first, but now it's left a harsh, choking bitterness at the back of his throat. Something he's long-since identified as his own special brand of

No. Needs a beat. Doesn't have a rhythm. Empty spots. This is not a song.

Sound suddenly punches him in the shoulder. Jay snaps his head back to pay attention to the assassin, who shoves the paper into his face.

_fuck you no_

"Oh, oh dear," Jay murmurs. "That's not a good answer, eh?"

Sound snorts and starts to write again, even more furiously than before.

_got caught in your last job_

Jay cocks his head to the side. "Not my fault, ain't my fault." Tap-tap-tap of something _rhythmic, _and there's Sound's pen going, scritch-scritch-scratch--

_wouldnt happn if you hadnt come at all. _The final period's made with a stab. The stinger. End of a song though it don't always have to be here, and Jay likes the glissando at the end, just that sheer drop off into nothing.

Sound's handwriting is always hard to make out and Jay's forced to hold it upside down to read. Seems better that way, seems easier that way, and sometimes you do get good results when you drop down at someone from the rafters with your knees hooked into the wood, splinters going through the back of your pants into your skin like bullets and_ real_ bullets flying off into their face, metal exchanged for blood and

Ink's bleeding all over the place from that last period. Jay presses a thumb against it before returning the paper to Sound.

"One more then, eh?" he asks. Pleasantly enough.

Sound stares at him, and it's not his usual glare. Just a stone-cold look that seems more like the natural state of his face which is _odd, _certainly, because no one thinks of Sound without thinking of fury. No one thinks of Sound without distorting the mute assassin's face into a scowl. Yet here's this--

Something else, a strain of something else in the back of his mind _what is it Jay can't find it, _no, find it he can, grab it he can't.

_last one? _Sound asks, with a mouth of liquid and fiber.

Jay snatches the paper out of Sound's hand almost before he's done and takes his thumb to smear the still-fresh ink over the rest of Sound's words. He writes messy but not _big, _and all his writing hasn't taken up more than a mere square of space. Now a black mess. Unreadable, oh good, oh good.

'_bout ready ter leave again, eh?_

Only then does Jay grin and nod, as he tears the paper up.

"Won't be seeing you again," Jay says with a smile. He holds out his hand as a fist, opens his fingers, wind blows all the scraps away and for a moment Jay's not sure if that's the paper or him. But then he feels Sound take his hand and shake and he knows he's still there, still whole. Music's still playing.

He's gone before Sound is, which is strange, because if there's one more thing that people associate with the assassin cross, it's his speed.

Maybe his archer friend is faster. Jay hasn't seen him all day today. Didn't think much of until today but that was odd too wasn't it? Sound and, and what's his name, no can't come up with it now but the two of them piece themselves together the same way a duet might. They're a duet all on their own. A good one, too. When they need to be.

Jay can appreciate that sort of thing.

---------------------

"So the hell didja do with it?" Rayel asks. That's all Jay knows about her, her name, and it's a nice name too. He likes the way it comes off his tongue, rayel, ray-el, ray-el_-le_ curl his tongue around that last el and flick it off as a third syllable all on its own. Rayel hates that but she hates a lot of things and all she ever does is kill them, and Jay's never in no danger of dying -- no, not him.

You don't die when you've got

Jay stops clicking his tongue along to the song playing through his head. Not something he'd spun out of this thick clogged air but something he'd heard in a lighter land and he can't remember anything, not the lips it came off of, not the surroundings it dissolved into, not the words that carried the notes but he remembers the _notes _and that's all he needs.

You got that -- you got somethin'.

"Jay, ya singin' again?"

"Nope, not me," Jay says cheerfully.

"Yeah, shut up and cut that shit out. Answer the question." Rayel begins to pace and Jay wonders how easy, how easy it'd be to reach over and tip that blank mask up to see what's underneath. Not a pretty woman he's sure, but that's because humans just ain't pretty things to begin with. Nothing's _pretty _once it's got a physical shape because matter just distorts things into something appreciable by the _eyes,_ too, and the eyes deceive more than anything.

"Gave it to Sound," Jay says, business-like enough for her satisfaction. Don't take much to satisfy her, she ain't too hard of a girl. Better employers he's -- no, he's never had any.

"Huh. Ya really think we oughta trust 'im?" Rayel says.

Jay's not listening, trying to catch that song, _zai-ay-ay, zai-zoo-zay,_and Rayel reaches over to smack him. "Ya gotta stop doin' that."

"Sorry lady," he says, with a grin, unhurt. "And no, we don't trust anyone no-one 'member, mm?"

"Hah. Don't you go tellin' me what the hell _we _do, we ain't a we," Rayel says, turning her back on him. He doesn't even know the color of her hair -- white red yellow black say what? Say -- white, he thinks. Seems like her color. But he's not thinking about anymore because the strains of melody are sinking back into his skull.

"Take care of it yourself nex' time," Rayel tells him, before she walks away. Jay watches her go. He's vaguely curious as to where she disappears off to each time. You've got weird people walking around in this land of theirs but Rayel's gotta be one of the worst. Walking around in a hood and mask, you're just _askin' _for investigations that way. You don't try to hide. You waltz out there like you own the place -- and no one'll ever notice you.

And that's the story of how Jay lost the world.

--_say what? --yeah. --huh! --eh?_

You're talkin' to yourself 'gain, Rayel says as if she's here, Rayel_ would _say if she were here, and Jay just laughs in the emptiness to himself _at himself? _before he waltzes off into that night like he owns it -- because he does -- he owns this world -- without knowing where it is.

You don't have to hold something in your hand to own it.

------------------

**AN:**All weird grammatical/spelling/syntax errors are intended. Unless it's one of those FFnet-mangling-up-text things, mostly unintended wordmashes. I think I caught most of them but oh boy do i need sleep.

In fact, everything wrong with Jay and his narration is intended. :(

If anyone (a-aside from Rizu) can guess what I was listening to throughout this whole thing, you win...I guess you win love?


End file.
